You Only Live Twice, revisited
by taleanaomi
Summary: The morning after, some people have a hangover. God, how he wished for a hangover. Instead, what he got were conspiracies, surveillance, stalkers and weirdoes with swords. Based off Evelyna1's fic of the same name.
1. Chapter 1

Criminal Minds/Highlander: You Only Live Twice, revisited

o0o

The laughter, the taunting it was all still fresh in his mind when he took a deep breath and woke up with a gasp. His hands went to his chest where the knife had been repeatedly plunged into his chest, but his fingers only met warm skin. At first that confused him; hadn't he gone to bed wearing his t-shirt? Maybe he'd been too tired.

At first, he thought that he'd had another nightmare, but as the features of his living room came into view, he quickly rid himself of that notion. He was sitting on the floor of his living room and the carpet underneath him was sticky with dried blood.

An awful lot of dried blood; in fact, the amount of dried blood that seemed to suggest a large wound or a number of wounds. He looked down at his torso where his shirt was ripped the shreds and covered with more blood.

In the nightmare, George Foyet, otherwise known the Boston Reaper, had shot the wall beside his head. A glance upwards showed him that the hole from the bullet was exactly where he expected it to be. This was beginning to feel strange, hinky, to use one of the words that Garcia was so fond of. Was he still dreaming?

Almost without thinking about it, he put hand into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone, immediately calling Garcia. _"And good morning to you, sir."_ She chirped cheerfully. _"How may I help you before you get to the office?"_

"Garcia." His voice felt strange, hoarse; like he hadn't used it for a while. Did cell phones work during dreams?

 _"Sir, are you alright? I was concerned when I came in and you weren't here yet this morning, but Rossi said we should let you sleep. But I had a hunch and so I pinged your cell phone. I know I shouldn't have done it, especially when I realized you were still at home, and that Rossi was right, but then he usually... "_

"Garcia. I need you to tell me something." He said, interrupting her stream of words. "Something that I don't know so I can ask you about it later."

 _"Sir?"_ Her voice was questioning.

"Garcia. I can't tell if I'm awake."

 _"Okay. Okay. Um... I know! Last night I had Thai food for dinner, but not the egg rolls, but apparently you can get sick, and like yucky sick from eating undercooked eggs and this place I ordered from, well, they wouldn't have been my first choice had I known that."_

"Thank you. I'm glad you didn't eat the egg rolls." Hotch said; he was almost operating on auto-pilot. Anything to avoid thinking about the puddle of blood he was sitting in.

" _Hotch. What's going on?"_ Her voice sounded small, unsure.

He almost didn't want to say the next words. "Garcia, I remember George Foyet stabbing me."

 _"What?"_ Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

"I thought it was a nightmare, but my living room looks like a crime scene. And so do I."

 _"Uh, what do you mean? It looks like a crime scene? Like someone staged it?"_

"If they did, they did an incredible job doing it. There's a rather large amount of blood and yet I don't feel wounded at all. I...I can't find an explanation for this and frankly, I really hope that when I ask you about this later, you won't remember this conversation."

 _"So wait? You just got killed and now you're alive?"_ She sounded rather confused and to honest, so was he.

"Possibly yes; but I haven't ruled out drugs, or something else. I don't know what I should do."

 _"Okay. We'll... we'll think of something. I uh... let me take a look around."_

"The dark web has something on spontaneous resurrections?" That sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth and slightly snarky. Was it a by product of surviving a stabbing or did he really sound like that?

 _"Possibly."_ There was a pause and the sound of computer keys clacking before she spoke again. _"Huh. Okay, that's weird."_

"What's happening?" The situation aside, Garcia didn't usually use that tone unless they were about to find out something weird and unexplained.

 _"Someone is trying to trace my search."_ The speed at which the keys were clacking had picked up again. He could picture her typing furiously on the keyboard at her desk.

"They're trying to find you?" He asked, trying to figure out what was happening. Did she just trip some governmental alarm set up to track people who were searching for unexplained things? Did that mean that this had happened before?

 _"Yes, but not for long, buddy. I'm just going block your attempt here. Oh, I see; you're good, trying to go around me there, but yes, yes; stopped!"_ She sounded triumphant. _"Sir, I don't think someone wants me looking into that."_

"Obviously, somebody knows something and is trying to keep it secret. Can you find them?"

 _"Me? Find them? Sir, I know that you did just find yourself in a scary situation, but if there is anything to find out at all I will find it, even if it takes me until you are good and dead."_ There was a pause as she reconsidered what she'd just said. Hotch almost didn't realize what she'd said. _"Sir?"_ He could imagine what she was thinking. But despite the situation, he could see the humour in it.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that." He replied, relieved to hear his voice sounding almost normal. He'd just focus on the situation and save his breakdown for later. "I'll be in shortly."

" _And I will have something by then to tell you."_ He hung up his phone and let it fall into his lap.

As more light entered the apartment, he could begun to see the mess that was around him. He got to his feet, slipping slightly in the blood that had yet to dry. He undressed, dropping his clothes into a pile to minimize the amount of blood he'd spread throughout the apartment.

Hotch pushed back the memories brought on by the blood and headed for the shower. The hot water felt good on his bruised body. He hadn't noticed it before, but his torso was tender, but not like he'd gotten beat up, it was tender like healed skin was. It felt new. He stopped thinking about it before he freaked himself out too much and continued on with his shower.

He wiped the water off the mirror and studied himself. He looked normal enough, maybe a little bit younger then last time he'd looked at himself, but that could've just been stress from the heavy case-load he'd been under.

He took a deep breath and checked himself for needle marks, pin-pricks, or anything that could explain a hallucination. Maybe someone wanted him to think George Foyet had killed him. It could be an attempt to discredit his mental status. Maybe he was too close to finding the Reaper and thus Foyet had done something to make him back off.

All these thoughts and more were running through his mind as he concluded his examination. There were no obvious signs that his mental status had been altered. It was starting to look more and more like the word he'd used to describe this phenomenon to Garcia could actually be the truth; spontaneous resurrection. Those wounds he remember receiving should have been fatal, especially without medical attention.

A blood test would've put his mind more at rest regarding drugs and/or other things, but the problem there was trying to find someone that would do one without asking any questions or submitting any paperwork to the FBI. He sighed and turned away from the mirror, walking into the bedroom. He pulled out fresh clothing, wondering what to do with the crime scene in the living room.

He finally decided to leave it alone. His gun and keys were still where he'd tossed them the night before. He picked up the service weapon from the kitchen table and his keys from the couch, avoiding the pool of blood.

Maybe it was about time to get an alarm system, just in case any more nightmares came calling. He was about to step outside the door when his phone rang again. It was Garcia.

" _Sir! I'm glad I caught you. Don't answer your phone unless it's me, okay? And you actually need to get out of your apartment and go and hide somewhere. Preferably somewhere where no one can find you."_

"Garcia, what is going on? I was just about to come in work." Hotch told her.

" _No! Oh, no, no. You can't!"_ She sounded appalled that he would even suggest such a thing. _"Look if you're right and something happened to you, then coming into work would be the worst thing you could do. George Foyet just delivered a package to the BAU and inside were crime scene photos, of you, and the knife that he said he used to stab you with. Everyone here thinks he killed you and they're on their way to the house now."_

Hotch looked up as his main phone line rang. At the same time, his cell phone buzzed letting him know about an incoming call.

" _Look, I don't know what to believe here."_ Garcia said. _"But I do know that if the police find you there in a crime scene and combined with the things that you can't explain, I can't take the chance that there are going to put you in a deep and dark hole until they figure out what is going on, so please for the love of god just listen to me and get out of there!"_

Hotch could hear sirens getting closer. He realized that Garcia had a point. He didn't like lying to his team, but things were a little too complicated to explain right at this moment. He wasn't even completely sure what was going on himself. "Okay, Garcia. I'll call when I'm somewhere safe."

He ended the call and then headed towards the back stairwell, knowing that the police would take the front entrance as it was an emergency.

A/N: You can find the link to the original first chapter here: s/10997208/1/You-Only-Live-Twice As usual, like and review!


	2. Chapter 2

o0o

Chapter 2

Hotch decided that blending in would be the best way to avoid standing out and that meant trying to find a place where a man in a suit wouldn't stand out. He opted for one of the local coffee shops located around his apartment block. He settled down with a cup of the local blend and called Garcia back.

" _Sir!"_ She gasped, relief colouring her tone. She lowered her voice. _"Are you safe?"_

"Yes, Garcia." He replied, trying not to smile. "Did you find who was tracking your search?"

 _"No, I didn't catch him. I kept him from snooping around, but I didn't catch him._ She took a deep breath. _"He probably figured out that I work for FBI, and maybe saw a few files, but nothing too major. I could've tracked him further, but then I had to go and pull a few more files for an investigation into your death that apparently hasn't happened yet or unless I'm speaking to a ghost."_ Pause. _"Are you a ghost, sir?"_

"Possibly, but my coffee seems to be staying inside my body for the moment, so I think I'm alive."

There was another long pause on the other end. _"You... you just made a joke. Okay... well, I can tell you that were dealing with an elegant hacker and from the code that I'm seeing here, he could've continued through my firewalls and lead me on a merry chase, but he didn't so either he figured he'd met his match or he already got what he wanted from my system."_

"This might still help us later." Hotch said thoughtfully. "We should also assume that Foyet is watching the news and waiting to hear if I've been found dead inside my apartment. I've been thinking that we should give him what he wants."

" _What are you saying exactly?"_ Garcia asked.

"Go ahead a write up a report based on everything you and I know so far. Let the police file their report, and the team too. The more people that put in an official report the better."

" _You want people to think you're dead?"_ Garcia asked. _"Doesn't that go against... well... everything? Wait.. am I going to have to lie to the rest of the team?"_

"Garcia, if people think I'm dead and that Foyet did something with my body, then no one will be looking for me. Foyet will assume that the FBI is keeping my body under wraps and I'll be free to investigate exactly what the hell is going on here."

" _Yes and yes! I get that."_ Garcia replied, the perky tone to her voice back in place for the moment. _"Okay, I am sending you everything that I have on this hacker guy, who goes by the username rog5000 by the way; totally original. And I will try to keep the fact that I am helping a currently dead agent under wraps for the moment."_

"Thank you." He told her. "Has anyone heard anything from Haley?"

" _They're bringing them into the building now, sir. But considering the threat against you, and what happened at your apartment, I'd imagine they're going straight into witness protection."_ Garcia's voice was quiet, sympathetic.

Hotch took a deep breath. This was not how he envisioned the rest of this week going. Instead of a few days off and a visit with Jack, it had turned into his family's biggest nightmare. He wouldn't even get to see them before they'd be gone from him forever. He took another deep breath and forced himself to think clearly, to dig deep to the place of stillness.

"Okay. See if you can make sure that Marshall Hendricks is the one to pick them up. I know him, and I'd been hesitant to think he has anything to do with this."

" _Alright, I'll contact him as soon as I'm done with you."_

"Thanks, Garcia. I'll call you later when I know more." He ended the phone call and turned his attention to the digital file in front of him. The list was short, it was an address to a local internet cafe on one of the local university campuses. There were thousands of possible people ranging from professors to students to friends and family of students; even campus employees such as security or cafeteria, but it was a place to start.

He picked up his coffee and left the coffee shop. It was time to do some profiling. He stepped out onto the sidewalk, reflexively reaching for his keys. He realized that there was no way he was going to able to drive his own vehicle. He let go of his keys and pulled his hand out of his pocket. He was going to have to find another way to get to the university campus.

A cab caught his eye a few blocks up and he walked towards it. The cabbie was taking fares and quickly urged Hotch inside before starting the engine and driving down the street. Hotch gave him the address to the university and they took off into traffic.

He idly picked up the paperback that was sitting in the backseat of the cab. It was some pop psychology book along with a thick psychology textbook. The cabbie glanced back and noticed that he was looking at the books. "You want them?" He asked.

"No. I..." Hotch started but the cabbie interrupted him.

"Some student left it in the backseat like a week ago and never came back to get it. They're yours if you want them."

Hotch realized that he was going to need something to help him blend in at the university. "Thanks." He said, placing the book on his lap. He glanced at the paperback's title once more. _Who Wants to Live Forever? Seizing the Here and Now._ He smirked. It seemed fate was teasing him again.

He exited the cab and paid the driver with what little cash he carried with him. He realized that if he was going to keep living like this, he was going to need to make a stop at an ATM. It would have to be quick though to avoid being picked up by any law enforcement as Garcia was sure to be monitoring his accounts and she would need to alert the team to any movement on his finances.

He stepped onto the university grounds, located the coffee shop, and settled down with his books to watch.

After wasting most of the day, Hotch was read to call the stakeout a bust. There was no one that seemed to fit the profile of elegant underground government hacker. Just students and teachers working on projects. It was taking a chance to think that the hacker would come back here, but students tended to be thrifty and resourceful when it came to finding free internet. It was possible, but not very likely that he or she would return.

He had stalked several students and teachers who were furiously typing on computers, but they had all been working on papers and not coding on the dark web. Hotch decided that he would be better off trying to find a place to spend the night. He left the coffeeshop, books in hand and headed through the campus park.

It was getting dark by this time, and the number of students in the park was limited, though earlier in the day, it had been filled with students hanging out, studying, and making out amongst other things.

Hotch felt something creep on the edges of his awareness. It was almost like a sixth sense. A sixth sense that got louder and start to feel more like a headache.

His first thought was drugs, that he was having an adverse reaction to something that had been slipped to him. He put a hand on his head to try and stop the pounding and the buzzing, but just as quickly as it had come, it left.

Hotch was still trying to clear his head when a man stepped in front of him. Hotch moved to go around him, but the man stepped right into his path again.

"Excuse me." Hotch muttered. He looked up into the face of the bearded man. He was young, maybe a student, but his eyes were bright with adrenaline. He looked eager for a fight.

"I am Erik Schmidt. Are you here to challenge me?" The man asked. He yanked out a sword from somewhere and stepped back a few feet, swishing it around in the air in front of him. "I am ready to meet your challenge, Immortal!"

Not overly concerned at the gesture – Hotch had been to college before and knew that most of the crazy things that happened were basically harmless enough when it came down to it. The sword even looked a little plastic. The student's use of the world immortal though, did give him pause, but he ignored it and reached into his pocket.

"FBI." Hotch identified himself. But the badge didn't seem to do anything.

"I don't care what ruse you use in the mortal world. Draw your sword!"

"I don't have a sword, but if you come any closer, I will be using my gun." Hotch told him calmly. The man advanced and Hotch drew his weapon, dropping the books in his hands; they hit the ground with a thud.

The man in front of him raised his sword higher with a grin. "If you're here for my head, you'll have to do better then a mortal weapon. There can only be one!"

He launched himself at Hotch with a move that he could've sworn he'd seen in a martial arts movie only. Hotch fired his weapon, but nothing happened; the man advanced. The man landed a few feet from Hotch and swiped at him with his sword. Hotch ducked, just barely making it under the blade.

He turned and saw the blade headed right for his head. He grasped something hard and smooth; he raised it above his head just in time for the sword to bit into the book. Luckily, it was a thick book and it slowed the sword down enough for Hotch to get out of the way before it was completely sliced in half.

Hotch rolled away from the man, one half of the book still clutched in his hands. There was no doubt in his mind that the sword was very real and that he was in danger. With no team, and no backup he could call on, this delusional student could kill him here and no one would be able to do anything to help him.

He flung the book at the man's face, hitting him square in the nose. With the distraction, he was able to grab his back-up weapon in his ankle holster, and fire at the man's knees. The man dropped to the ground, shouting with pain. He swiped at Hotch with the sword, knocking the gun from his hand.

Hotch caught his arm on the backswing, grasping a pressure point on the other man's wrist and bending it. He wrenched the sword from the man's hand. The man looked surprised. Obviously, he hadn't been expected that Hotch was going to fight dirty. Well, that was his loss.

"Who are you?" Hotch asked, pressing the blade against the man's throat.

"You've won." The man gasped. "Just do it already, or the next time you won't be so lucky, cheater!"

"I'm not going to kill you." Hotch told him.

"I will not be apart of your sick experiments." The man spat, suddenly sounding desperate. He shoved himself forward, falling on the blade. It sliced clean through his neck and both body and head fell the ground at Hotch's feet. Hotch stumbled back from the corpse, tripped over the planter box and landed on his butt, sword in hand. He sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

The black metal of his firearm gleamed in the grass and he picked it up, placing it back into the holster.

A crackle in the sky made him look up, half expecting to see the lightening. But the sky was clear, stars shone in the blue/black sky. He looked back down and saw that the body was glowing. This day was only getting stranger. Lightening flickered and danced along the body and then it jumped to him. He had no time to prepare himself before the lightening hit him in the chest. And oh, the feeling of power that flooded him! It was over as suddenly as it begun and left him shaky, dizzy and even more confused then ever.

He panted, pushing himself to his feet with the sword. If this is what is felt like to get struck by lightening then it was no wonder that people chased storms. Slowly, someone sighed from behind him and he spun around, sword raised, to see a man in a black overcoat standing a few feet away by the park bench.

There was no weapon pointed at him, no reason to think that this man was a threat, but Hotch knew instinctively that this was a dangerous man. Possibly even apart of the same group whose member he'd just beheaded.

"I was just here to pick up a book." The man admitted in a long suffering British accent. "I swear that's all it was. One ancient and very useful book. But then I just have to walk past you almost getting yourself beheaded by some jackass who apparently takes the Game way more seriously then even McLeod does. I'm still half tempted to walk away and leave you here."

"I'm sorry?" Hotch was still trying to get his bearings after the menace with the sword had come after him. What the hell had been with the lightening? He didn't feel burned, his clothes weren't charred, he felt normal. But he knew with a strike like that, his team should've been picking him up in a body bag.

The long black coat, the manner in which he was being treated by the man in front of him was leading Hotch to believe that he was involved in some sort of occultist practice. How else could he explain the sword wielding, and the ancient manner of speaking?

"But I have to say that an immortal FBI agent; that is shaping up to be interesting, almost worth sticking around for. We've had people in law enforcement change before, but it's a little more complicated when it's an FBI agent without a teacher."

The man in front of him smiled and Hotch realized that he was amused at the whole situation. Not only that at the fact that he'd almost been killed by a sword, but at the fact that he held all the cards and Hotch knew nothing. He had two choices; play along or tell him go away.

"We?" He asked. "Did I somehow stumble upon a pledge ritual?" Damn, there was that wry humour breaking through again. Before yesterday, he never wouldn't allowed his personal feelings to enter into an encounter with a subject.

"If you want to call it that, then yes; you did." The man responded.

He was young, Hotch realized as he took a better look. Possibly a student at the university, but the manner in which he treated people was with contempt. Almost like he was better then they were; narcissistic. Obviously thought that he was a part of some group with a mission. What the mission was though was up for speculation. But his eyes were old, really old. Hotch had seen young people with old eyes before, usually because of something traumatic in their past, but this look was beyond old; ancient was a better way to describe it.

"Be glad that I've elected to talk to you instead of trying to kill you like this young whelp." The man in black nodded to the headless body lying in the grass. "I usually succeed."

"Does your group usually progress to killings before conversation?" Hotch asked. He touched the reassuring weight of the sidearm at his side. "As you said before, I'm an FBI agent. Who are you?"

"You can call me Adam." The man said walking closer. He held out his hand towards Hotch, motioning to the gun with his eyes. "And you won't need that. If you're going to kill me, you're going to have to try a whole lot harder then that."

"You mean with this?" Hotch lifted the sword.

To his credit, the man in front of him didn't even flinch. He dropped his hand, shoving it deep into his pocket. "It's called a Quickening. The lightening show that you experienced." He clarified as the confused look at Hotch's face. "It happens when you behead another Immortal. That is the Game."

"Immortal?" Hotch asked. It wasn't the first time he'd heard someone use that term today. He wondered at it's meaning.

"It's what you are." Adam told him. "It's how you survived nine stab wounds from that serial killer you were hunting. I believe the newspapers call him the Boston Reaper. He killed you in your apartment late last night."

Hotch raised the sword. "What do you know about the Boston Reaper?" He asked, his voice had gone low and cold. He pointed it at the man's chest. Despite his non-nonchalant attitude, Hotch could tell that the presence of the sword really did bother him.

"Much less then you do actually. Mortal serial killers really aren't my area of expertise." Adam responded. He waved at the sword. "You mind putting that thing away before campus security comes by and sees you with it?"

Hotch didn't lower the sword. "Why? Do this bother you?" He stepped closer and let the point of the sword poke Adam in the chest. "You know a hell of a lot about immortality then anyone else I've met, so I'm betting that you are also immortal which means that this isn't going to kill you, at least not until I raise it a few more inches."

Even as he said it, Hotch wondered what was happening to him. He hadn't been this... well... arrogant in a long time. Not since he'd gotten knocked down a few pegs during his first profiling case.

Adam managed not to look a little intimidated as he stared back at Hotch. "Here's a piece of advice because I know that look in your eyes. That arrogance you're experiencing right now? It because you just beat fate. That pride will fade after a few hundred years and it'll be replaced by a cold and calculating weight. Whatever happened between you and the Reaper; that doesn't matter now. What matters is that if you want to survive, you'll play the Game." He told him in a low, dangerous tone, punctuating the last few words.

"So what then? I just leave my old life behind and pick a sword to run around beheading people?" Hotch asked sharply. "I've dedicated my life to putting away murderers like you, I'm not about to become one of them."

"I'm not a murderer." Adam responded with a wry grin. "Not by your mortal standards anyways. Beheadings have now become a matter of life and death for you, Aaron. And if your FBI personnel file is anything to go by, I know that you have it in you to play this deadly game."

"You're rog5000." Hotch said in understanding. "You were the one who was trying to find out who was doing those searches on spontaneous resurrections. That's how you know about the Reaper, and how to know who I am."

"Guilty as charged." Adam replied with a grin. "I knew you FBI boys were quick. Though I didn't manage to get any further then a few names and case-files before I was so rudely kicked out by some computer genius. It didn't take long with a little investigative work to figure out who'd changed after that. Not showing up for work was the first clue, but all that blood in your apartment was really the clincher."

"You've been watching me? Why? For how long?" Hotch took a step forward.

Adam took a step backwards to avoid the point of the sword. Another sword appeared from thin air and Adam knocked the sword out of his hands with a few deft moves. Now Hotch was the one standing at the sword's pointed end. Adam pressed hard enough to draw blood.

"I think it's time we turned this conversation around again." He said quietly. "You see, you've entered a very dangerous Game. You can see how easily I disarmed you. There are others more experienced at swordplay, who've had more training and more practice then you _ever_ did in your college fencing class. I'm more experienced. Do you understand me?"

Hotch nodded. The sword point making it hard to speak.

Feeling in over his head again, he reached for that untouchable stillness that most law enforcement professionals learned to develop when dealing with unknown subjects. One of the first killers to get under his skin was when he'd worked that old case in Seattle. But then he'd been young and green, now he was more experienced. Or so he'd thought. For the first time since that case, that place of stillness was a little harder to access. Maybe it had something to do with what had happened to him.

Adam released the pressure he was putting on Hotch's throat and sword disappeared again. "Good. Now you have two choices; you can go back to your team and tell them it was all a big mistake or you can disappear and live a new life."

"And if I refuse to choose?" Hotch asked feeling drops of blood run down his neck.

Adam shrugged. "That's not up to me. Just know that if you expose yourself to the rest of the world, there's a whole lot of us who'll make it our place to make sure that you're the only one being exposed. We've existed for centuries among mortals and we're not about to let ourselves be put into the public eye by one FBI agent who refuses to follow the rules."

"You haven't even told me what those rules are yet." Hotch reminded him.

"Oh for..." Adam looked throughly vexed. He searched his pockets for a moment and then shoved a piece of paper at Hotch. "Here. Don't loose that. And get yourself a teacher. You're going to need one. Well, I don't think you'll need help in the offensive area, your rather thick head will get you into trouble."

"Hey!' A shout interrupted them and Hotch turned to see campus security headed towards them. He turned back to Adam who had vanished without a trace.

"What's going on here?" The guard asked coming up to Hotch. "The park's closed, sir." Then he caught sight of the headless body in the grass. "Holy mother of..." He grabbed for his gun.

Hotch held up his identification, holding his finger over the name just in case. "FBI. I just about to call it in."

"Yeah, okay..." The guard look a little green. "Is that really a...?"

"Headless body, yeah." Hotch replied. "Why don't you wait over there while I call it in." He motioned towards the park bench a few feet away.

"Sounds good." The guard said. "I'll alert campus security too."

"You do that." Hotch told him, already walking away from the body. He brushed blood from his neck, but didn't feel any cuts; odd.

He glanced back, but the security guard wasn't watching him as he spoke into the portable radio. Hotch kept walking until he was out of the park. Under the light from a streetlight, he looked down at the paper in his hand.

 _Don't involve mortals in challenges of other Immortals._ Great, his first day as an immortal FBI agent and he'd already broken one of the rules. He shook his head at how crazy that sounded and continued down the street. He was going to have to find another cab and some place to sleep tonight.


	3. Chapter 3 - revised

o0o

Chapter 3

Morgan, followed closely by Prentiss, walked through the doors of Metro PD. He grabbed the closest officer. "Excuse me? Where can I find Detective Carter?"

"I'm Carter." One of the detectives walked over to them. "You the feds?"

"Yeah. Derek Morgan. This is Emily Prentiss." Morgan introduced them. "You mind giving us the story again?"

"Yeah. So like I told the agent I talked too, we had some prints at a crime scene and when we ran them, they came back to one of your agents, uh, Aaron Hotchner?"

"Yeah." Morgan looked over the desk which had evidence bags on picked up some gloves that were nearby. "Are these the things that had his prints onthem?" Heasked picking up the books from the table.

" ran them through the system and connected them to your guy." The detective snorted. "Kinda funny for a profiler to be taking psych 101, isn't it?"

Morgan flipped through the books. "I'll take a look at these. Maybe there's something in there that Foyet wants us to find."

"What else did you notice about the crime scene?" Prentiss asked. She and the detective stepped a few feet away to look at the file while Morgan continued to look at the evidence. His mind flashed back to two days ago.

 _The paper package had been quite unassuming when he'd picked it up after coming in first thing. He'd barely gotten any sleep, but JJ had requested they be there early as they could to debrief and being in the office was better then tossing and turning in bed. After that crime scene in Canada..._

 _It was addressed to the unit and Morgan figured that someone had thrown it on his desk meaning it to go to Hotch. He looked up in the office; the boss man wasn't in yet, which was probably a good thing. Since Hotch had separated from Haley, he'd barely left the office._

 _Morgan ripped open the envelope and yanked out the pictures that were inside. One glance was enough. "What the hell is this?" The photos dropped to the desk as Morgan shouted for the rest of the team. The pictures were of Hotch, and it looked like he was dead._

 _The next thing he remembered was opening the door. The first thing to hit him was the smell. Blood. There was nothing like that metallic scent. The living room was clean. By the small dining room table was a large pool of blood and clothing. But no body._

 _Prentiss came up behind him, holstering her weapon. "There's no one else here." She looked over her shoulder. "Is that..."_

" _Yeah. Let's get Crime Scene up here. We need to know what the hell is going on here." Morgan picked up his phone and dialled. "We're here, Garcia and there's nothing here but a crime scene. Any luck trying to track his cell phone?"_

" _Uh, no. I think it's turned off and I might be able to turn it back on if I knew where it was or what towers to activate, but I don't."_

" _You can't work some of your magic, baby girl?" He asked._

" _No. Sorry. This is one thing that I can't do. Not today."_

" _Okay. You okay?" He asked._

 _There was a slight pause."I'll call you back." Garcia told him in a rush and then line went dead._

" _We've got a case." JJ said, closing her cell phone. "It's urgent, or otherwise I wouldn't say anything."_

" _Seriously?" Morgan said. "We've only got a few hours of sleep and then this happens, and now we've got to go work a case?"_

" _It can't be helped." JJ replied. "Someone is shooting random people in the DC area and it's just going to keep getting worse. I don't like it either, but we need to go. We have a job to do."_

" _Hey." Morgan got the attention of the crime scene tech. "You let me know the minute you have something."_

In the present, Morgan'sphone rang, shattering his reflective mood. He grabbed it off his belt and answered. "Hello?"

" _Hey,_ _Morgan_ _._ _You find anything yet?"_ It was Reid. The kid must still be in the hospital since getting shot the day before while protecting Dr. Barton. The case hadn't been the easiest, but it had involved a kid so they'd put everything in the back of their minds and focused on the case. Until the call from the PD this morning.

Morgan threw the evidence bag back onto the table. "I don't know, Reid. Headless bodies really aren't Foyet's style, you know? And leaving Hotch's fingerprints at the scene?" He shook his head. "I'm really confused here, man."

" _The profile could've changed. What if killing Hotch wasn't enough, what if Foyet has a need to completely discredit him?"_

"You mean if Hotch isn't the decorated FBI agent that everyone knows him to be, then maybe Foyet isn't the murderer that Hotch made him out to be."

" _Something like that."_ Reid admitted. _"It's a long shot, but if this went from gratification killings to revenge fantasy, then all his previous motivations_ _could be flying out the window. I mean, think_ _about_ _it. He came all the way to DC to hunt Hotch down,_ _maybe even kill him_ _."_

Morganpaused for a moment. "You don't believe that Hotch is dead?"

" _I don't know what to believe."_ Reid replied. _"_ _The fact that we have no body means that we can't say for cert_ _ai_ _n what happened last night._ _I mean why would Foyet take Hotch's body? There's nothing in the profile to suggest he'd do something like that._ _"_

"But he'sdone it before." Morgan reminded him.

" _Yes, but if you remember he did that to try and fake his own death, which means Hotch could still be alive. There was over four litres of Foyet's own blood at the crime scene, whose to say that he didn't do it again?"_

"Morgan."He lookedup to see Emily motioning himover. "You've got to see this."

"I've gotta go, Reid. I call you back."

Hewalked over to her and the detective. "The security guard who found the body said he saw a man who identified himself as an FBI agent. They got enough for a sketch." Emily handed over the piece of paper. "Look like anyone we know?"

Morgan was the first to take the paper. He half expected to see Foyet's features staring back at him, but instead he saw intense dark eyes and a familiar jawline; itlooked suspiciously like looked up at Prentiss. "Seriously?"

"What?" The detective asked. "You guys know him?"

"He looks suspiciously like the agent whose fingerprints you found at the crime scene." Emily responded. "But it's not possible. We believe that the agent may have been killed yesterday." She explained.

The detective shook his head. "Sorry to hear that. I was hoping I'd at least be able to find out why these headlessbodies are dropping all over my town. Having an FBI agent as a key witness would've made this case go a long way towards solved."

"Can we talk with the witness?" Morganasked the detective. "The security guard?"

The other man snorted. "Be my guest. I'll get you his contact details, but if you ask me the guy is a little too much cop wannabe and not enough security guard if you get my drift. I'll be right back."

"I think we've been looking at this case all wrong." Emily said once the detective had left."Is it possible that he's still alive?"

"Not with that amount of blood found in his apartment. The corner said there was at least five that being the case, I don't see how it'spossible."Morgan replied. He replaced the paper on the desk.

"It could be a disguise." Prentisssaid. "Maybe it wasn't enough for Foyet to plant suspicion, he actually needed Hotch to be at the crime scene so there was no reasonable doubt that he was the killer."

"But that hardly tracks with his original profile." Morgan countered. "First, he kills Hotch and then he goes around posing as him? You're making him out to be a psycho who needs to complete a revenge fantasy, not the cold calculating killer we know he is."

They both paused as they considered the implications of a changing profile.

"Ireally don't know what to believe right now." Morgan replied finally. "Either that sick son of a bitch killed Hotch andtook hisbody or he faked the crime scene and sent Hotch out on some murder spree. Now, I think the first one is far more likely. You do know this isn't the first headless body in the DC,right? Two others were found just a few days ago; this is just the latest one. Someone else is doing this and it's not Hotch."

"I know, I watched the news." Emily replied. "But come on! Something like this doesn't make you wonder?"

"Is it better to believe Hotch is dead or that he's being manipulated by Foyet?" Morgan asked. "Because if you ask me, I'd rather be dead then running aroundbeing a puppet for this son of a bitch. I don't want Hotch to be dead anymore then you do, but we have to look at the facts. That much blood? And the fact that it's been almost been two days."

Neither of them saidanything more as the detective came back to the desk."Here."He handed Morgana card. "Got this from him. Home number's on the back if you're interested."

"Thank you." Emily said to the detective. "We'll be in touch."

"Let me know what you get offthe security guard." The detective said. "Maybe he saw something and forgot to tell us. But if you want my opinion? I don't think this case is going anywhere; it's another unsolved just like the last three. Especially since your guy is dead. Good luck."

"You too." Morgan said to the detective as the two FBI agents left the police precinct.

o0o

"Anything?" Rossi asked quietly. Behind him JJ and Garcia were waiting in the conference room. The two woman were standing, waiting to hear if there was any news. Oddly enough, JJ looked more worried then Garcia did. Reid was sitting in a chair with his leg propped up.

Morgan shook his head. "Nothing."

Emily sighed. "Nothing definitive. The fingerprints were his, and they have a witness that seems to think that someone fitting Hotch's description approached him, but there's nothing solid. I'm sorry."

"Reid? You OK?" Rossi asked.

Reid nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Reid has all sorts of theories about what might have happened." Morgan told the rest of them, annoyance coating his tone. He felt the rest of the team stare at him in confusion. He and Reid were rarely at odds and seen it happen now when Hotch was missing, it felt like a betrayal to them.

"Well, while you two were out chasing dead ends, Garcia and I did some digging on the unsolved cases that have plagued our local detectives." Rossi said. He motioned them into the conference room. They all took a seat. "I thought I'd heard about murders like this before and it turns out, I was right. In the late eighties there were some headless bodies found in secluded areas, but it was further west. My bet was on Oregon."

"But it turns out he was wrong." Garcia said. "It was Washington State actually." She pulled up the map on the computer screen in front of her and turned the computer around so they could see it. Reid took a close look at the map.

"I believe there are a few localresidents that referred tothat area between Seattle and the borderas Seacouver?" Reid said, looking at Rossi for confirmation. Rossi gave a nod toward Reid, signalling that the young man was on the right track.

" the killingswas so few and far in-between that none of the local cops around the area put it together until some rookie decides to look at unsolved cases across several law enforcement departments around there. It was a good catch. The local PD called us in to profile for them."

"But you never caught the killer." Morgan stated.

Rossi frowned. "No. But the killings stopped and they never had any order to them, no patterns, and all the victims were different. The only thing that was the same was that they were all decided that we weren't going to get anywherewith this one and packed up the case files."

"Until they started happening again." Garcia said. She showed them a picture. "Meet Detective James Green. He's the one who found the connection between the murders back when he was in his twenties. Despite his unfortunate last name, he was not green when he took on investigating those murders. He was a damn good detective."

"Was?" Morgan asked.

"Green was forced to retire early when we failed to catch the guy." Rossi said. "He couldn't let it go. Garcia was able to find his contact information. Apparently, he lives here in DC now; works in a bookstore."

"So are we working this case now?" Emily asked. "What about Hotch?"

"If Hotch were here, he would say to follow to evidence." Reid said. "We need to talk to Green and see if he has any information on this case and how it connects to Hotch. If it connects to Hotch."

"I agree." Rossi said. "I don't understand how this case connects with the Reaper and why Hotch is missing, but what I do know is that things don't always make sense but if we follow the evidence, stick with the profile, we bound to get somewhere."

o0o

" _Do you know how much you have to study the human body to stab yourself repeatedly and not die? Not die, not die."_

He woke up with gasp, hands going to his chest, but only meeting the warm fabric of his t-shirt. The light streamed in, making patterns on the floor. He'd slept late; not surprising considering what he'd been through.

Foyet's words still echoing in his mind, Hotch sat up; swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The motel wasn't the best money could buy, and the stain on the carpet wasn't coming out anytime soon. He looked around the room without really taking it in.

The sword stood up in the corner of the room. Hotch glanced over at it, the steel reflecting tiny bits of sunlight. He didn't know why he'd taken the sword from the park. But there was something about it that had called to him. He knew he shouldn't leave it there. He didn't know much about swords, but he knew that the one he had wasn't a knight's sword. It was just as long, but had a hand guard on the hilt. Not a pirate's sword by popular culture standards then. He hefted it in his hand. It was heavier then he'd thought it would be; solid, a weapon, not just a mock prop from an off-brand fantasy television show. The blade was sharp too as the events from last night could confirm.

Hotch put the weapon down and walked to the window. The outside world was already going about it's business for the day. A cleaning woman, a couple having a heated discussion in the parking lot, kids skateboarding... He watched the people for a few more minutes. He tended to do that when he was thinking.

Before the cleaning woman had finished scouring the room she walked into, Hotch had made his decision. He needed to go back to what he knew. He was an investigator and good investigator followed solid leads. And he knew at least four people that would have some solid leads. It was time to do some stalking of his own.

o0o

The bookstore was located in the old district of DC where history met modernism. Morgan pulled off his sunglasses as he and Prentiss entered the shop. Bookstore was a modern word to describe the mess of books that greeted them. It looked more like a badly organized library.

"Should've sent Reid on this little side trip." Prentiss muttered to Morgan as she looked around at the titles. She picked one up. "The Ancient World: How Man Made His Way."

"Careful with that." A quiet voice told them from the corner. Both agents looked over to see a man place a stack of books on a table. From the picture Garcia had sent them, Morgan knew it was Green.

"James Green?" He asked anyway.

The man nodded. "Let me guess, Metro PD?" He asked.

"FBI." Morgan replied. He reached for his ID and showed it. "Agents Morgan and Prentiss."

Green nodded and turned back to his books. "And how'd long it take you to find me?"

"Not long." Prentiss answered. "One of our colleagues worked on the original investigation, David Rossi."

Green nodded again as he sorted through the books on the table. "I remember the name. I assume you two are here because there are more headless bodies showing up and you want to know what I know, correct?"

Morgan shot a concerned look at Prentiss.

Green turned around and studied them for a moment. "Ah, I see." He muttered quietly. "I'm a suspect."

"The thought had crossed our minds." Morgan replied, deciding to go for brutally honest. Green seemed like a man who could handle it.

"Well you'd be wrong. And you wouldn't be the first." Green told them. "Now the question is, are you going to be more open minded then the others or are you going to insist on taking the same well worn path that caused me to end up here?" He waved a hand. "Not blaming anyone, I like what I do, but I don't have time to waste talking to you about something you've already made up your minds to ignore."

Prentiss exchanged a glance with Morgan. It seemed that James Green hadn't left behind that attitude of a cop even if he'd walked away from the lifestyle.

"And what have your colleagues chosen to ignore?" Prentiss asked curiously.

"The truth." Green told her bluntly looking straight into her eyes. His stare made her feel slightly uncomfortable. He dropped his gaze a moment later and turned back to the table full of books. "I didn't do it." He told them quietly.

"But you know who did." Morgan interjected.

"It was a long time ago." Green told them, picking up a book and moving towards a shelf. He glanced at the spine. "And I'm not a detective anymore." He placed the book back onto the shelf and turned back to face them. "Whatever answers you think I have, I don't."

"We don't want answers, we want suspects." Prentiss said. "As the detective on the case, I'm sure you had suspicions about who was guilty. Especially in a small town like that where everyone knows one another."

"Suspicions?" Green repeated. He managed a smile. "That's all I had."

"We'd like to hear them."

Green's eyes went hard. "It was a drifter, and not one of those homeless people. I'm talking about a well educated, nicely mannered drifter who he gets high off decapitating people and decides that he likes it. That's my theory anyways. But it doesn't matter what I think and quite frankly I'm tired of people coming to me whenever there's headless body on the news." He cleared his throat and picked up another book. "This one goes in the back. You can show yourselves out."

He took the book and left them behind at the counter.

"One more question." Prentiss asked, stopping Green in his tracks. She pulled out the sketches of Hotch and Foyet. "You ever seen these two men?"

Green turned back to look. Morgan noticed his quick eye taking in all the details of the two sketches before he looked up at Prentiss. "No." He told her quietly before leaving the main shop and heading into the back.

o0o

Hotch stood carefully on the corner feeling like some villain from a cartoon as he watched Morgan and Prentiss walked away from the bookshop and into the standard issued FBI vehicle. It hadn't been an easy choice to choose to tail his team, but the he hadn't been making easy decisions since getting up two days ago in his apartment.

He was surprised that they didn't take James Green with them as potential suspect, but the must have given them all the right answers. He knew the name from the name on the door. He'd half considered sneaking into the SUV to grab the file folders left on the seat, but reconsidered. It was too risky.

As the FBI agents drove away, Hotch yanked the brim of his borrowed fedora lower and crossed the street. He stepped onto the sidewalk, adjusting the sword hidden in his long jacket. He felt quite at home in the strange garb. He entered the bookstore, ringing the little bell as he opened the door.

The store was empty, but he heard someone moving through the stacks in the back. He decided to sneak up on Green. He didn't know how Green played into this case, but he knew that he must have something to do with this whole mess if his team was playing the man a visit.

A light buzzing, aching headache had started again and it was getting louder. Hotch winced and closed his eyes, hoping it would pass quickly. A moment later it was gone

"I've got to tell you, you've got some nerve coming in here." Green told him, not turning around from where he stood looking at the shelves of books.

Hotch froze in the middle of the aisle.

"I know you're there." Green told him, still not turning around. "If you knew the rules, you'd know better then to sneak up on me like that."

Hotch decided to give up on his failed tactic. "I'm new at this game." He replied.

Green turned around to face him. Hotch was startled to realize that Green recgonized him. "Ah. The FBI was just here looking for you." He said

"They're not looking for me. They're looking for answers." Hotch told him. "They think I'm dead."

Green nodded. "And rightly they should. I take it the it's your work that's been showing up in the news lately?"

"That was an accident." Hotch was quick to defend himself.

Again Green nodded. "I'm sure it was." He put down the book he'd been trying to shelve and held out a hand. "We haven't formally met yet, though I suppose a police sketch is as close as I wouldn't come if I hadn't stuck my nose in that case many years ago. I'm James Green."

"I know." Hotch replied, taking the other man's hand, but not giving his name. There was still something off about this bookshop owner, though he couldn't quite place it yet. "Your name is on the door."

"Yes, but you still don't know who I am." Green told him. He smiled "Let's go have a cup of shall we? I'll explain everything."


End file.
